


Begin the End

by beginningtheending



Category: Flowers in the Attic - V. C. Andrews
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Brother/Sister Incest, F/M, Incest, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beginningtheending/pseuds/beginningtheending
Summary: Things are beginning to change between Chris and Cathy.
Relationships: Cathy Dollanganger/Chris Dollanganger
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s something forgotten that I found on my old computer and thought I would finally publish. I worked on it shortly after the release of the 2014 movie and added my own take. Please excuse any errors or cringe, I haven’t touched it in ages, but let me know if you like it! It’s been several years, but I still love Cathy and Chris ♡.

Chapter 1

Cathy stands before the bathroom mirror to examine herself, observing all of the ways that she's changed. Her hair has grown longer, sweeping down her back in thick flaxen strands. Her lips are fuller and her face has lost most of its childish roundness, bringing her high cheekbones into prominence. 

Her body, she realizes, has changed as well, giving her curves in places she hadn't before. Her chest has grown larger, swelling softly into a young woman's breasts. Her waist is more defined, thinner, and her hips have widened a bit. She curiously runs a hand over her skin, pale from the sun's neglect, and is startled when she sees someone in her peripheral vision. 

She snaps her head to the doorway and realizes that it is Christopher. He's looking at her, watching her, with a queer expression on his face. 

"What are you doing?" she asks. 

"You look so, uh..." he trails off, admiring Cathy's body despite himself. 

Cathy is puzzled by Christopher's expression. She doesn't have long to try to understand it, either, as they hear their grandmother approaching. 

"Ah. I knew I'd catch you sooner or later," their grandmother enters the room, looking terribly smug. 

"We weren't doing anything," Cathy explains. 

"You think you look so pretty in your new young curves and your long golden hair," the old woman scoffs, staring meanly. 

"How many times have you allowed your brother to use you?" she snaps. 

"Use? What do you mean?" Cathy asks in confusion. 

"I walked in on Cathy by accident. We haven't done anything wrong," Christopher insists. 

"Your sister is almost naked and she allowed you to look upon her body!" 

"Sit down, girl," she orders, searching for something on the shelves. 

"What are you doing?" Cathy asks, afraid to hear the answer. 

"I am going to cut off your precious hair, down to the scalp. Maybe then you won't feel so much pride when you look in the mirror," the old woman says, wielding a pair of shiny scissors. 

Without hesitating, Christopher grabs the miserable woman's arm. 

"You're not going to cut one strand of Cathy's hair," he asserts in a threatening tone. 

"Oh?" their grandmother laughs at his display. 

"Alright, then, have it your way. Her hair - or the four of you don't eat for a week." 

"But the twins didn't do anything!" Cathy protests. 

Looking between her and Christopher, noting his protective stance and aggressive manner, the old woman simply chuckles. 

"I think it'll be your brother who will cut off your precious hair," she decides, forcing the scissors into Christopher's hands. 

"Or none of you will eat at all," she adds wickedly, flashing a smile of perverse pleasure. 

…

Cathy wakes in the night, gasping in horror as she feels something, thick and slick, in her hair. 

Christopher hears her distress and stumbles out of bed to see what's wrong. 

He furrows his brow at the sick substance coating Cathy's hair, feeling the color drain from his face. 

He brings his shaky hands to her hair and his fingers get coated with the black oiliness. 

"I think it's tar," he whispers. 

They move to the bathroom and Cathy stares into the mirror with horror while Christopher gets the water running in the bathtub. 

"Come get in the tub and we'll get it out," he says confidently. 

Cathy sits in the warm water, still in her nightgown, desperate to wet her hair. 

Christopher makes multiple attempts with shampoos, conditioners, soaps, but they yield no results. 

"It's not coming out," Cathy cries hopelessly. 

He can see that Cathy is near tears and manically, desperately racks his brain for some solution to the mess he'd made for her. Surely, there has to be something to remove the tar, something to fix it. 

"Wait," he has an idea. 

"Oil might work." 

"What?" 

"Baby oil. Help me look," Christopher says. 

Cathy climbs out of the tub, ignoring the soaking mess of her hair, and searches the room desperately. 

With Cathy out of the water, Christopher suddenly notices the way her wet nightgown clings to her body and he finds himself staring at her comely curves. Staring with the same glazed eyes and senselessness that had gotten them into this predicament. 

"Chris!" Cathy calls, having found a bottle under the sink. 

Her voice startles him and brings him back to the present, abandoning his troublesome thoughts for the time being, and focusing on the task at hand. 

"I can't promise that it will work, but I'm going to try my hardest. Get back in the tub," he says. 

Cathy sits in the lukewarm water and Christopher soaks her hair in oil. They let it sit until the tar softens and he begins picking it off of the strands of her hair. 

"I'm so very sorry, Cathy," he apologizes, avoiding her eyes. 

"It isn't your fault, Chris, all you did was look at me." 

Christopher tenses his jaw and sighs. 

"It is my fault. She saw the way I was looking and took it out on you." 

This isn't right, he'd been the one staring, he'd been the one with the thoughts that were wrong. It's all his fault, not Cathy's, and she shouldn't have to pay the price for his mistakes. 

"I swear, I try so hard not to think about girls. I just wish to God you weren't so..." 

Beautiful, warm, alluring. 

"...close," he finishes softly. 

Being in such tight proximity is too much, he wants so badly to reach out and touch her, to hold her, dry her tears and make sure she's alright. He allows himself to gently run his fingers down her shoulder, feeling her warm, soft skin beneath his touch. 

Cathy turns around to meet his eyes, staring into them as she makes the connection. Realizing exactly what his words mean and what he had meant earlier when he had been gazing at her in that strange way. It had been in admiration, because he finds her attractive in a way he hasn't expressed before. 

"Then you do think of me. You think I'm pretty?" 

"Yeah. You're pretty," he breathes, their faces close. 

Too close. He draws ever closer and eyes her soft, inviting lips. He would only have to move an inch or two closer and... no, no, no. He can't think that way, not right now, not with Cathy. 

Chris turns her back around so they're no longer face-to-face, making it somewhat easier to control himself. 

"But, brothers don't think of their sisters that way," he says, as much to himself as to Cathy. 

He continues picking through her hair until all traces of tar are gone. 

"I can't believe you got it out!" Cathy squeals, standing up and looking in the mirror. 

She smiles victoriously and he does, too, relishing the feeling that he'd foiled the old woman's hateful attempt on Cathy. 

"Yeah, so just wash your hair to get the oil out," he instructs and Cathy nods. 

"Thank you, Chris," she smiles, reaching out to give him a hug. 

She's soaking wet, but he returns it all the same, pulling her close and holding her for a sweet, too-short moment. 

"No problem. Uh, I'm going to go back to bed," he excuses himself from the room. 

Christopher closes the door and hears the water being turned on. He tries not to imagine Cathy peeling the soaked nightgown from her skin and stepping beneath the warm water, feeling the soft spray against her naked body, with steam rising up around her. He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the damning thoughts. 

He hadn't been lying when he'd said that he had walked in on Cathy by accident. He had, but one look at her beneath those fluorescent lights had rendered him dumbstruck and immobile. Of course, he has always known that she is beautiful, but, at that moment, he had seen her as he never had before. He'd slowly absorbed her every detail, from her beautiful face with its delicate features, her glittering blue eyes, to her long, gleaming hair, and, lastly, the curves that give her such a stunning figure. But, as well as he knows Cathy, he's aware that she is so much more than merely externally beautiful. She is strong and intelligent, kind and caring, yet impatient, determined. Ferocious, if need be. He admires those things about her, they make him love her all the more. 

All of the feelings he always works so hard to repress have bubbled up to the surface and now he doesn't know what to do with them. In their time at Foxworth Hall, his and Cathy's relationship had evolved, and she knows him better than anyone, truly understands him. She is his best friend - more than that, actually - she is like his other half. She had come to be the only light in his life and he's defenseless against her. He would do anything for her if it would make her happy or bring a smile to her beautiful face. 

And their grandmother had tried to take away something that makes Cathy happy - her long, lovely hair. He would never be able to forgive the horrid woman for doing that. Who was she to try and take anything from Cathy that hadn't already been stolen? 

The way she had attacked Cathy had stirred something within his person, something primal. He'd felt a surge of violence towards the old woman, a strong one. And how he'd wished he could obey it! Nothing would have pleased him more than to strike her down and make her pay for what she'd done to Cathy, for threatening to starve the twins. 

On and on he silently storms, and his rage towards the wretch builds until the point that he's forced, again, to get control of his emotions. He feels a little bit like he's losing his mind, like the delicate balance that's guided him through the long days and nights has slacked, and in the wrong direction. 

…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Cathy realizes with startling clarity that she isn't safe, none of them are. Any sense of security she had held on to had been violently broken apart and she is genuinely afraid. If their grandmother could put tar on her hair just because Christopher had looked at her, what else is she capable of? No one in their right mind would do that - and they wouldn't keep four children locked in an attic, either! 

What would happen next? Christopher had managed to save her hair, for which she is exceedingly thankful, but she knows it won't stop there. Something far worse is going to happen, Cathy can feel it in her bones. She's scared and shaking and all she can think is that she wishes her father were still alive. He never would have let this happen to her, to the twins or Christopher. 

…

When morning comes, Cathy is still tired, since she hadn't slept after the ordeal with her hair. She lethargically brushes her teeth and gets dressed, relieved every time she glances in the mirror and sees that her hair is undamaged. 

She is immensely grateful to Christopher for getting the tar out of her hair, but that's not all she's feeling. He'd said that she was pretty, and the way he had been looking at her yesterday... she knows she should feel differently, but those things please her, send little flutters to her heart. 

"Cathy, will you braid my hair?" Carrie asks, interrupting her thoughts. 

"Sure, Care. You need to brush your teeth and get dressed first, though," she says and Carrie does as she is told. 

Cathy brushes through her little sister's white-blonde hair and braids it for her, putting a pink ribbon on the end. 

"There you go. You look very pretty," Cathy tells her. 

She and Carrie join Christopher and Cory back in the main room and Cory and Carrie begin playing with a yo-yo they had found. 

Their grandmother unlocks the door and sets down the basket of food. 

Her eyes, cold and hostile, scan across the room and rest on Cathy. Trying to figure out how she isn't bald, no doubt. She doesn't speak, but presses her lips into a hard line, and locks the door back behind her. 

"Cathy, are you okay?" Christopher asks quietly. 

"Yes, I was just going to change these sheets," she says, hating the way her hands had begun trembling upon seeing the old woman. 

"Here, I'll help," he offers. 

They begin stripping the bed and speak quietly between themselves. 

"I'm scared, Chris. I'm terrified of what she's going to do next." 

"I'm so sorry," he says, reaching for her clammy hands. 

"I don't want you to be scared, Cathy. I promise you that I'm not going to let her hurt you again, ever," he vows, meeting her eyes with an intense gaze. 

Cathy searches his face, looking for any sign to give away that he's lying, but doesn't find one. 

"You really mean that, don't you?" she asks. 

"I do." 

For some reason, hearing him say that makes her ache inside. 

"This isn't supposed to be our life, you know? We weren't meant for this and I'm tired, Chris. I'm tired of living this way," she says, seized with sadness. 

"I know it's difficult, believe me, I know. But it's only temporary. We'll get the lives we deserve, some things just take time," he tries to comfort her. 

"Time, yes. Haven't we lost enough of that up here?" 

Days pass, then weeks, and Cathy crosses off each day in the attic with chalk. She looks at the rows upon rows of x-marks and wonders if being in prison is very different. At least there you know when, or if, you're getting out. Mix that uncertainty with all of the time that keeps passing her by, and Cathy knows it's wearing on her sanity. How could it not? 

Sometimes, she thinks about her father. How different their lives would be if he hadn't been killed in that accident. She wishes it had been Corinne, instead. She truly does. Cathy doubts if she would even miss her. 

In her mind, Cathy had separated Corinne from the woman she had been when they were living in Pennsylvania, _that_ woman had been her mother. But she was gone, had mutated into someone who doesn't even visit her children for weeks at a time, who keeps them locked in an attic like clothes that have gone out of fashion. While pondering the change in Corinne, a thought worms its way into her head that Cathy just can't ignore. What if Corinne really had been this was all along? 

…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Cathy is changing into her favorite ballet outfit, pink with a matching skirt, and white tights. She pulls her hair into a bun and laces the ribbons on her slippers. 

Almost every day she practices her ballet steps, determined not to lose her training. She stretches her legs and does some pointe work, fluttering her arms and moving with grace and poise. 

She remembers how proud her parents used to be of her talent, her father, especially, had doted and praised the skill with which she performed. But that was a lifetime ago, one filled with promises Cathy had believed would be kept and dreams that were shattered into a million tiny pieces. Even if she found each and every piece, they would never fit together in the way they used to. The memories sting as they resurface and Cathy glances around in search of a distraction. 

She notices Christopher putting the finishing touches on his painting, though his eyes flit occasionally in her direction. Cathy had noticed him watching her dance before and figures that now is as good a time as any for him to learn, too. She makes her way over to him and extends her hand. 

"You know I don't dance." 

"Let's remedy that." 

"No, you're the dancer, not me." 

"I bet you'll take to it more easily than you think." 

"No way." 

"Come on, Chris, let me teach you. Please," she asks, smiling. 

"Okay," he agrees with a sigh. 

"But just something simple - no ballet for me," he qualifies. 

"How about a waltz? Everyone should know how to do that." 

"Fine, teach me to waltz." 

Cathy grins, feeling triumphant, and leads him into her makeshift dance studio. She puts a record in the player and positions his arms for him. 

"We'll start really slowly, okay? One step at a time." 

Cathy demonstrates the proper way and Christopher does his best to mimic her movements. His self-consciousness is fairly obvious, so Cathy does whatever she can to put him at ease and not embarrass him. He's a slow study, stumbling his way through most of it, but he improves little by little. 

After a few of her lessons, Christopher is in much better shape and has relaxed his movements noticeably, making Cathy a proud teacher. Yet, as they dance closely to the sweet music that fills the empty attic, something happens between them, a little shift in the atmosphere. Their eyes meet in a gaze and hold, and there's a hyper-awareness of how closely they're holding each other. It feels as if something is about to happen, something that sends Cathy's heart racing. Christopher moves his face imperceptibly closer and his eyes drop their focus to her lips, resting there for a moment, before returning to her eyes. 

When their lesson is over and Cathy begins descending the stairs, she can feel Christopher's eyes on her heavily. Looking charmed and mesmerized, he watches until she is out of sight. And she wonders why it all feels so thrilling. 

…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

One ridiculously warm evening, Christopher thinks about the property's lake that his mother had talked about and gets the idea to go swimming. He searches the attic for a way to get down and eventually finds a rope that is long enough to reach down to the lawn. 

"What would you think about taking a swim?" he asks Cathy. 

"I think it's very mean to tease me with an idea like that. I would love to get out of this miserable heat and swim." 

"Let's go, then," he says. 

"What?" 

"I'm not teasing. I found a rope long enough to get us out of here." 

"Yes! Let's go!" she agrees gleefully. 

Christopher makes certain that the rope is secure and climbs down first, then Cathy follows suit. 

Feeling the soft grass and warm earth beneath their feet, he and Cathy are able to actually run and laugh and feel some semblance of freedom. It's amazing. Like taking a deep breath after having your head held underwater. 

They run to the lake, splashing and laughing in the cool water and feel the deepest, purest happiness they've felt in the longest time. 

After their swim, they lie back on the soft grass and look at the expanse of sky. The moon is nearly full and reflects on the lake in all its silver glory. Christopher is silently counting the stars, making out the patterns of the constellations his father had shown him when he was a kid. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks Cathy. 

"I was just thinking about that camping trip we took right before Dad died. We all sat around the campfire and toasted marshmallows. I don't think I even looked up at the sky until he started talking about shooting stars and how they would make your wishes come true," she says with a nostalgic smile. 

"And we tried to get Dad to let us stay up until sunrise," Chris remembers, chuckling. 

"It seems like an eternity ago, doesn't it?" she asks. 

"Yes, it really does," he agrees sadly. 

"Chris, where do you think Mom is?" 

"I don't know," is Christopher's only reply. 

"It's been over a month. She's never been gone this long. Why didn't she tell us where she was going?" she presses. 

"Wherever she is, I'm sure she's thinking of us," he says from habit. 

"Do you still trust her?" Cathy asks, clearly disappointed. 

He looks at her and sighs heavily. 

"It's hard for me to keep trusting her, and it's so easy to doubt everything that she's doing. It scares me, too," he admits. 

"And, to be honest, Cath, I don't even know what I feel anymore," he states. 

"Feel about what?" 

"Anything, everything," he answers, sighing again. 

Christopher's feelings for Cathy have only grown stronger with the passing of each day. He battles with himself mightily, trying to deny it, trying to stop it, but he can't quell the love he feels for her. Love. That's what it is, he's sure of it. How do you possibly stop yourself from loving someone? How could he not love Cathy, when she's everything he wants and needs? He looks over at her as she studies the sky and could perish from the anguish he keeps concealed within himself. Oh, to take her in his arms beneath the endless expanse of the heavens. To kiss her and confess the feelings that run through him like blood through his veins. To hear her say that she loves him, too. Impossible dreams, he knows too well. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset," Cathy says, not wanting the beautiful night to end on a sour note. 

"No, it's okay," he says easily. 

"Hey, how about we finally watch that sunrise? It'll be a nice view from the roof," he suggests. 

"I'd like that," Cathy smiles. 

… 

Cory and Carrie are still sleeping peacefully when they return to their room. 

Christopher and Cathy go back to the attic and stay up talking until the sky begins to lighten. Then they climb out of the attic window and sprawl out on the roof to watch the show. 

The sky's darkness is chased off with a golden glow as the sun begins its ascent. Gray turns into blue, blue turns into pinks and purples. It's remarkably still and quiet outside, only the morning calls of birds break the silence. 

There's nothing special about that particular sunrise, surely it happens the same way every day. And, yet, suddenly, it's everything. It's a promise that will never be broken, something that will always be there. It makes Cathy feel something she hasn't in a very long time: hope. It fills her head with beautiful possibilities and makes her believe that just maybe there is still a chance out there for her. 

She smiles silently. It had been such a long time since she'd allowed herself to hope. Now she will have to hold onto it, follow it wherever it leads her, no matter how treacherous the road or what stands in her way. To feel happiness, real happiness, would make it worthwhile. And when she finds what it is that gives her that true happiness, she'll never let it go. 

Cathy is so glad that Chris had had the idea to watch day as it breaks through the darkness, it's exactly what she's been needing. She looks over at him, sitting beside her and watching the sky, and catches his eye and they exchange a smile. Then she rests her head on his shoulder as the sun shines golden rays down on them. 

…


End file.
